What I'm currently working on: Far From Perfect | Simon x reader x Keegan fic (Master list here.)
Other one shots/drabbles I do for fun when the idea comes to me
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MY WORKS ARE ONLY POSTED ON AO3 (I'm slowly transferring off Wattpad) AND NOWHERE ELSE.
༉‧₊˚🕯️🖤❀༉‧₊˚.
You can call me Pork or Rain, whichever you prefer if you find me here first or from AO3/Wattpad.
Practicing witch 🔮 goth author here to bring in the goth MC's 🦇
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My page is strictly 18+ most if not all my work is NSFW so MDNI 🔞
Please do not copy, alter, repost, or anything that steals my work.
I have been writing since I was 13 and took a massive break that was almost 6 years so I'm back and ready to fight with my demons (or ride them, if you will)
Welcome to ask anything! DM's and Ask box is always open if you are curious to get to know me🖤 or if you want to share some thoughts.
Asks will not be deleted unless it is hate speech, homophobic, racist, or anything nasty of that nature.
Anything else other than that? Ask away.
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(if I have missed anything, I will add it forgive me this is new to me :) )
neighbours au in which you start cooking extra portions to feed your neighbour simon, a man who lives alone and always comes home late from his job.
you dont realize how your simple kindness made simon grow more obsessed with you. he begins showing up unannounced, knocking at odd hours with flimsy excuses just to see your face: he claimed to have heard a strange noise coming from the hallway and wanted to check on you; his phone died and he needed to borrow yours; he noticed your window was cracked open and worried someone might have gotten in. it was weird because from simon's house, it was nearly impossible to see your bedroom's windows.
eventually, he forged a key to your flat and let himself inside while you were out or asleep, claiming that he was doing it for your own good. "it's not safe," he explained to you, voice low and rough, "for a young girl like you to be living all alone."
you didn't dwell on it, you only thought how lucky you were to have a caring neighbour like simon.
unpopular opinion probably but I actually like that ao3 doesn’t let people take back their kudos.
unlike social media platforms (which ao3 is not) where people unlike stuff whenever they think or find out the original posters’ moral compass doesn’t perfectly align with their own’s or whatever, and “likes” can be taken back at any time, ao3 treats kudos as something sacred. once you give it, it’s the author’s to keep forever.
Best part is if someone deletes their account, the kudos remains, and it just gets swapped over to a guest kudos instead. The body is gone but the love remains.
Hi, out of everything, yes, i'm setting up a petition to attempt to convince Infinity ward to make a remodel or continuation of Call Of Duty Ghosts. I loved the campaign and have played it many times and it breaks my heart to see how they left it on a cliffhanger.
What dissapointed me is how many people did not even give it a chance back then because of Black Ops. Everyone simply dogged on it, there was no chance for them to improve or update the game whatsoever, and I really want to get that second chance of having Logan being able to continue his story.
So, I have set up a petition!
https://forms.gle/bZ7VLFVkfJwgwzhn7
This here is for you to sign in order to help me reach a large amount of comments for Infinity ward to look at, and possibly give them the idea of bringing back this gem thats covered in dust.
Sort of a part 2 to this I suppose? I just had some more thoughts... @cherelapine
Imagine that you and John can eventually return home after almost a year of being wholly committed to your part as "the married couple next door". The information you gathered about this terrorist (most of it came from his wife who had very loose lips) was enough to get him and the group he worked with arrested.
When the two of you finally arrived back on base, though, the shift was instant.
Obviously everyone knew that you and John would most likely be somewhat closer than you were before you left. Soap, Gaz, and Ghost had been briefed to just act like they usually would around you until your dynamic shifted back to normal.
But they weren't expecting that when you got off the heli that you would be holding hands... and still wearing the wedding rings you were given.
You settled back into routine quickly, just now you do everything together.
Training, eating, sleeping, briefings, paperwork, hell you even shower together.
They really tried to ignore it. Figured that you would eventually go back to normal. But no.
"You want a cuppa, baby?" You asked, not even turning around from the recroom kitchenette.
"Please, love."
You made your way back to the couches where everyone was sitting with two steaming hot mugs of tea in your hands, handed one to John who took it with a nod of his head, his ring clinking against the ceramic, and then promptly lowered yourself onto his lap. He didn't bat an eye at the sudden display of affection. No, he just wrapped his arm around you, fingers digging into your waist, and planted a kiss on your shoulder.
The others had to try act like the petnames and displays of affection were normal. You had basically been married for a year, they understood that. But it was like you had been together for years. They figured they would have to address it at some point.
The only thing preventing them from saying anything? Every night they could hear from Johns room the sound of the wood of his bed slamming into the wall, echoing around the entire barracks. They could hear your moans. Pathetic little mewls and pleads, sometimes even cries. The walls were so thin sometimes they swore they could hear the wet sound of Johns cock pistoning in and out of you, even over the sound of your moans and his grunts.
They all jerked off to the sounds every night.
They couldn't address it because they were afraid you would stop...
Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Disgustingly loving sex (sorry). Soft dom!Simon Talks You Through It™️ Creampie. Brief mention of Reader’s insecurities w sex
Note: I’m on Instagram now (kinda), come say hi :-)
Word count: 2.1k
It wasn’t like you hadn’t tried before.
You’d had your fair share of lovers and experienced more than a good deal of fun. With everyone in the past, climax came the same way, every single time: clitoral stimulation, and clitoral stimulation alone.
By this point in your life, you suspected your g-spot was probably just a figment of your imagination, no more real than Atlantis, Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy.
That was, until, you met your boyfriend, Simon.
And things had only been official for a week.
You and him had fooled around a handful of times—made love, as he called it, and kissed and cuddled and occasionally dry-humped until the two of you were both panting, groaning messes—but all of this was new. Simon was still learning you, as you were him.
He finished between your tits. You came on his tongue. He fingered you to the point of tears, and you learned how to touch his sac just right to get him to blow his load in seconds. On this night in particular, you were fucking missionary, and holding hands while you did.
Lovesick puppies, Price would say. Neither one of you seemed able to unglue your lips or unlace your fingers or keep your hips from colliding again and again and again in frantic search of the other’s furthest depths. You were perfectly wrapped up, with no desire to move
Except, you needed to reach down between your bodies to actually get off. That was a minor detail.
You didn’t think the man above you would mind if you moved your touch from his, but then that grip tightened the second you tried pulling away.
“Keep it there, lovie. Like holding you like this,” he said.
You enjoyed it, too. It was intimate, and sweet, and with your hands pinned on either side of you, locked securely in his, you felt safe. You just couldn’t finish.
“But I…I need to come,” you whispered against him. You rolled your hips and felt his cock twitch inside you.
Simon grunted, then swallowed. Nodded slowly.
“Yeah. I’ll get you there. Feel this?”
He slid deeper for emphasis.
You didn’t.
You rarely did, or at least not in the way you figured you were supposed to get when something pressed there.
“I think…sort of, yeah,” you hedged your answer.
Don’t bruise his ego, don’t hurt his feelings.
This is all on me, Si, I promise it’s not you.
Cutting in over your thoughts, Simon moved swiftly. Took your hips in his big, strong hands, lifted up, and plunged his cock to the hilt. The girth of him was enough to knock the air out of your lungs, and you felt your walls stretch, sting, and weep sweet liquid warmth around that intrusion. You moaned.
“Better?” The man’s question was simple.
Before you could answer it, he was sliding a pillow underneath your backside. Sawing his long, thick, leaking cock in and out of you, he reached a new spot.
You made a face, feeling good from that but…strange.
Simon snatched your hands up again and planted them beside your head on the mattress. He thrusted steadily. He peppered kisses all over your face and your neck while the bed frame squeaked in time, and you had to dig your heels into his ass to ground yourself.
“Talk to me, baby. Can’t make it better if you don’t.”
“I—I know, I just can’t—”
At the same time, Simon tilted your hips slightly once more, and the tip of his cock kissed something soft and wet and dizzyingly pleasurable inside your body. A loud, embarrassing cry slipped out between your lips.
You wanted to clap a hand over your mouth, hating the way you’d just sounded, but your fingers were stuck to his. Simon grinned down at you, toothy and approving.
“Can’t do what, now, darlin’?”
The warm, bulbous head of his cock had found its mark, and he just kept prodding that spot, like it entertained him to do it. The fingers laced between your own constricted their grip even more, and Simon leaned down to kiss you while his cock carved a mind-numbing path. In between kisses, he praised you.
“That’s my girl. She’s likin’ it now, isn’t she?”
“Feel good when my cock hits that spot?”
“Your pussy’s fuckin’ soakin’ me, baby.”
But still, somehow, it just wasn’t quite enough.
Maybe you’d never found that place after all.
This was where most men gave up—after a few good minutes of fucking when their balls had gotten to be as swollen as stones and their bodies were aching for release, more often than not, they’d go off chasing their own high. That was when you usually started rubbing your clit, or waited for your partner to finish so they could get you off with their tongue or something.
You hated to feel like a burden, and you really despised the thought of being the reason your sweet Simon couldn’t get to orgasm. So you squirmed again.
Straining to reach down, to try and touch yourself, you whimpered, “Si, please, it just—it takes me too long—”
“Good thing we’ve got all night,” Simon replied bluntly.
Then, once again, he twisted your bodies like you were as soft and malleable as putty in his hands, and this time, he hitched one of your legs around his hip, high.
With one slow-rolling thrust and an audibly squelching sound, Simon’s cock stretched your hole to maximum capacity, and then a little more. Your juices leaked down his shaft, aiding the slide, and he stabbed in a few shallow strokes. Probing. Testing the waters, as if he were trying to find something hidden inside you.
You sucked in a breath. Simon’s gaze slid to yours.
“Let’s find that precious spot, lovie. Easy, now.”
Gently coaxing your body open, he drove a slow, measured pace. He split your cunt like it was the easiest thing in the world, delving within your wet, velvety heat to tease every contour and crevice of your pussy. His tip leaked precome. His balls glistened in your arousal and landed with the gentlest plap, plap, plaps while he explored your insides with his member.
It really was as simple as that, nothing more and nothing less than poking around. Having patience.
“S-Si,” you stammered, nose wrinkling slightly.
“What’s’at, baby? Got something to tell me?”
Like a teacher, almost, he pressed for more.
Like his cock was showing you something new about your body but he needed your help to tell him just how and where to find it, Simon took care to be kind. He smoothed a hand over the crown of your head and then cradled the back of it, one massive set of fingers splayed out against your skull and engulfing it wholly.
He still held onto your other hand tight.
Your cunt pulsed. Ached. Fluttered around him.
Stuffed to the brim, you had only to feel, and murmur:
“Higher.”
“Higher?”
“Um, to the…to the left.”
Simon tilted his hips left.
Yes.
That was just it. So close.
Almost…
Or, maybe…
“Maybe it just…isn’t there,” you huffed out, deflating. “Know you’re trying so hard, baby, but I think I can’t—”
Then Simon hit the same spot as before, only higher.
Just like you’d told him: to the left, and then…
“Oh, fuck,” you cursed. “Oh, fuckfuckfuck.”
The grin above you stretched even wider.
“There, lovie?” Simon goaded you on.
“Right there.” You nodded furiously.
A wave of pleasure swept through your limbs, from your core down to the soles of your feet. Your toes curled, and you squeaked, feeling Simon’s cock graze that soft, spongy, sensitive place—except he’d pushed in deeper. The sensation made your eyes roll back.
“Little dove doesn’t mind my pokin’ after all, huh?” Simon’s words were a tease, but you heard a strain in them, too. The second you were caught in the throes of real pleasure, your cunt must’ve clamped like a vice.
“Keep…keep pokin’, Si,” you choked out. “I like it.”
Your lover kept at it—poking from the inside.
The routine almost felt like losing your virginity all over again, together. Simon cradled your head, told you how good you were doing, how sweet you were for him, and you whimpered under his hold. Squirmed and clung to him for dear life, then kissed him feverishly.
Simon’s mouth was hard and hungry, his thrusts deep. His cock throbbed within the wet, clenching confines of your pussy, and he seemed to be going wild at the feeling. With the idea that he was driving you wild, too.
You realized as much when he whispered it to you.
“Could lose my bloody mind when you’re like this—” Another sharp, labored breath. Another shudder passing through his body when your insides squeezed. “—so why didn’t you talk? Ask for what you needed?”
Your voice was small. “Didn’t wanna be a bother.”
Your eyes were locked with Simon’s, and in his irises, you caught a shade of concern. It flared, hot as anything, then mixed with disbelief. Disappointment.
“Don’t be angry, Si, I—” you started, hurried.
“‘M’not.” Simon blinked. But he gritted his teeth, and he withdrew his cock until the head was bumping and teasing between your folds, then he shook his head. “It’s those fuckin’ pricks who should be sorry, yeah?”
The ones that you’d been with before.
You wanted to protest, insist that you were at least partly to blame, but you never got the opportunity.
Simon was back inside you in a blink.
Hitting that same spot again, and again, and again.
He grinned, the tic of a muscle in his jaw telling you that he was less amused this time around, but proud.
Vindicated.
“Well. It’s not like they’re ever gettin’ a chance in between these pretty legs again, are they, lovie?”
You nodded in agreement.
You smiled back at him, only to have that gentle curve falter a little when you felt Simon’s thrusts accelerate.
“Only thing that’s gonna touch this spot other’n my cock is my seed, splatterin’ all over your walls, right?”
When he gave a playful nip to your lower lip and squeezed your hand tighter, you knew that he meant it. The man had plunged so deep inside you that his pubic bone was now grinding against your skin, and the rest of him was buried. His balls, all full and warm and heavy with his release, rested firmly in your cleft.
And the steady, measured strokes of his cock landed with near-surgical precision on the G-spot you’d convinced yourself up until tonight didn’t exist.
Simon beamed. You were overcome with ecstasy.
“This it, lovie? This spot right ‘ere?” he cooed.
His cock bobbed against that gummy and indescribably dizzying place, causing your last moan to morph into something more akin to a shriek.
You nodded your head: “Y-Yes. Yes.”
“Feel good when I hit it?”
“Fucking perfect, Si.”
You sighed when the man bottomed out for what felt like the millionth time, and the pleasure never waned. He felt just as good now as he did when he first got in.
“Yeah? Gonna come on my cock then, pretty girl?”
“Yeah. I’m— I’m so close.”
“Go on then, love.”
And, shortly, you did.
Maybe three, four, five more stabs of his cock to your most precious, intimate place and you were unraveling beneath him, stars bursting in your line of vision. It seemed dramatic to say, but that was really what it came to—your mouth hanging open, eyes wide, gaze peering into Simon’s while he fucked you through the most intense orgasm of your life. You clung to him, and your walls spasmed again and again and again, milking the man’s release in the next few seconds. Simon shuddered and grit his teeth as he unloaded a thick, gooey load inside, dousing that spongy, body-numbing spot and then some. The two of you moaned in unison.
Your body was boneless, your head a hazy mess.
It took several seconds for your conscious mind to come back online fully, and when it did, Simon was leaning in again and planting kisses along your face.
“That’s my girl,” he murmured, breath fanning hot across your skin. “My perfect girl. You did so good.”
You smiled and caught his mouth for a proper kiss.
“Thank you,” you murmured against him.
Then Simon squeezed your hand—the one he’d been holding this entire time. He lifted it gently, like he was afraid too rough of a movement might split you in two.
He turned your wrist and kissed the back of your hand, eyes locked on yours and expression soft while he did.
cw: 18+. DO NOT LEAVE SPOILERS IN THE COMMENTS. I WILL DELETE AND/OR BLOCK. also not really edited at all.
navigate to: part 1 | part 2
part 3 (final)
You open a canned cocktail and then last all of two hours. Validation-seeking-ass bitch.
» Hey, thanks again for fixing my tires. I really appreciate it. Sorry for making you do extra work after you just finished working, especially in this heat.
» I would've hated It would've been I don't want you to think I was serious about the drink offer, btw. If you don't drink, it can be something else. Please let me know when you're free
You turn the phone face-down and go pace around your bathroom, reorganizing your serums and SPF and cleansers and vitamin C and retinol and then you hear the phone vibrate from your bedside table and you're striding back.
» don't need to be sorry
» Well, then, thanks. better?
» better
» trust you got home ok then
» I did. Even took the highway
» good to hear
» you should ask security to walk you to your car any time past 5
» they'll do it no questions asked
» Oh I finish before 5. you just caught me in two extenuating circumstances lol
» made me look that word up
» lol sorry
» what'd i say bout that
You set the phone down. Lie flat on your back on your bed and breathe out a giant shrill exhale. Drag your hands over your face in multiple repetitions. Shake your head over and over. Processing. Processing.
» are you about to say it again
» 100%
» cute
» finish at 7 tomorrow. let's grab something after
» ok sounds good. have a good night
» cheers
—
Sasha debriefs you; she'd felt bad about revealing your secrets, so with John and Kyle, she'd pivoted to some question about integrated webcams instead while you were hiding in the washrooms. "Secret's safe with me," she'd smiled and apologized.
You debrief Sasha. She slaps your shoulders and upper arms until you push her away laughing to defend yourself.
She grabs a piece of paper and pen.
what we know
name G_02
sees you maybe daily or weekly - passes you or vice versa
seen your cubicle
knows your full name or enough to message you
has access to company chat
possibly G for ghost
possibly G for garrick (??)
possibly others
Sasha taps the pen against her lips. "Easy enough. Let's strike out a few of these." Opening the chat app, she uses the search user feature to eventually find Kyle Garrick.
"Hm, his username is just KG though."
"Okay, look for Simon."
"He has an account. They must assign them to everyone. Username SR."
"Fuck me. This person managed to make their name slightly different than the usual nomenclature. An IT person perhaps?"
A few hours later, you're on your own, wandering through the floor to find an HR officer for a pay question on your file. Your eyes eliminating pods of cubicles as you go. "Oh! Hey."
Kyle squinting and tabbing between a set of two monitors, a pair of 1950s style glasses propped on the edge of his nose. At your voice, he glances up in surprise. A big smile curling up. "Heya! How's it?" He leans back in his chair and pushes the glasses up over his hair. "You need some help?"
"No, no, I was just on my way to grab someone from HR, and wandered through. Still getting used to the maze."
He stands, adjusting his relaxed summery pants, grabbing at his glasses and laying them on the desk. "Let me join ya. Today's doin' my head in. Need a break anyway."
"Oh, sure," you smile. "Do you know Una? That's who I'm looking for. I thought they were around here…"
He laughs easily and surprising you, sets his long fingers at the tops of your shoulders and spins you around so you're facing the opposite direction. "Thatta way. Hate to break it to ya, you're not even close."
He shoves his hands in his pockets and stays beside you, close, his elbow brushing the bare skin of yours when he needs to pinch in to make room for someone else passing. "You know, you were pretty noncommittal the other night, about the next cinq à sept." His elbow brushes yours again even though there's no reason.
"I'm not a big drinker," you deflect.
"Don't need to be. Just come out and have some fun with us. Easy, yeah?" Your eyes slide over to his and he's looking down at you, a warm smile on his face and a little wink in his eye.
You reach the area with clear Human Resources signage. "Well, here y'are. Now y'owe me a drink," he winks again and lopes off, cool as a cucumber always.
—
You decide to work late today and just wait at the office for 7; feels unfair to go home and get ready before drinks when he'll be getting off and still in his uniform.
You're fiddling with your phone in the lobby when you hear a ding. You've been trying not to glance up, but your eyes won't listen, and then you see black boots thud out of one of the freight elevators tucked off from the bank of regular elevators. Simon in his uniform, long thick legs striding out calmly, a plastic water bottle crinkling in his big hand.
"Hey," you say brightly, and all of a sudden, this feels very much like a date.
Simon gives you a small smile, chucks the water bottle in the nearby garbage (not recycling, just one bin over), and says, "Y'alrigh'?"
"Yeah, good, thanks. You?" You shiver as he ushers you out the main door. You give a small goodbye and nod to the front desk security guard. Simon calls them by name and gives a more personal goodbye.
Outside, the air is humid but there's a breeze pushing your dress against your legs, keeping the worst of it at bay. "Do you wanna walk somewhere? Or we can take my car, or—?"
"Too hot to walk," he says calmly. "Take my truck an' keep yours here f' now."
"Okay." You walk quietly around the back of the building to his lot. He opens the truck door for you, which has your stomach twisting like crazy, and all you can do is give him a tiny smile and a thanks before climbing in.
You have a few seconds of unwitnessed time to glance around the cab of his truck without him in here. Surprisingly tidy. Not clean, either. Smells warm and sweaty, trapped heat over a long July day, and a faint smokiness. You watch as he comes around the front of the truck and hauls himself in, a slight something on his face.
"You have a sore back?"
He lets out a laugh-adjacent huff. "Years of sore back. Old injury never properly healed, an' heat makes it flare up."
"Ouch."
He flicks on the air conditioning and fiddles with the vents, leaning over a little more into your space to adjust yours. "That good?"
The air is cold and instantly soothing on your hot cheeks and neck. "Yeah. Yeah, perfect, thanks."
"Don't start apologizin' again."
You laugh self-consciously and play with the strap of your bag in your lap, crossing your legs. "No promises."
He makes a small humming sound.
Very quickly, he's pulling into a parking lot of an Irish pub. You go to open your door and he makes a soft noise, so you leave it hanging so he can come round and open it fully. You laugh at him for how silly it is, and he doesn't say a thing. You get ushered into the pub, and sat right away at a booth by the window.
It's dark, quiet, and very, very air-conditioned.
You order a whiskey ginger and he gets a coffee. "Oh, are you…sorry, I shouldn't have assumed we were drinking."
He makes a pinched face at your sorry. "I'll join you shortly. Just don't wanna be too tired."
"We could have rescheduled…"
His eyebrows dart down like he doesn't follow. "Why would we do that?"
"If you're tired."
He chuckles softly. "'m always tired. Nothin' that coffee can't fix. 'sides, wouldn't cancel on you."
Heat pulls through you, snaking and slippery. "Well, let's just hope there aren't any more emergencies that you need to babysit me for."
Another confused face. "Babysit you? What'd'ya mean?"
You watch as his mouth forms over the ceramic lip of the coffee mug and takes his first sip. You mirror with your sweating glass of whiskey and ginger ale, with extra ice.
You laugh. "Do I need to explain it?"
"Nah, I know where you're drivin' but s'not it. Bit of shit luck, is all. You weren't losin' the plot or nothin'."
The drink is sweet and sour and you take a much deeper sip. Preparing yourself. "I can't tell if you're annoyed by me."
His eyebrows raise high. "Y'havin' a laugh?"
"No."
He folds his hands, tattooed down to his knuckles, around his coffee mug and stares at your drink. Not you. Your drink. "Think I'd hang 'round if I didn't want to?"
You've misstepped. Might as well make it a fuckin' dance. "Well, the last two times were against your will."
"You think so?"
"Well…courtesy, at least."
"'What're you doin'." It's spat out plain.
"What?" You take a desperate drink.
"All this. Feels like you're tryin' to tell me the ways I shouldn't'a helped you."
This tête-à-tête has you all circled up around, tangled in your own dumbass thoughts. You sigh heavily and pick at your thumb polish. "I dunno anymore. I'll just be transparent then. I've been getting weird messages at work. I can't figure out who it is. They hint that they know me, see me. Their, uh, initial. Is the letter G."
You lead him to the trough to drink, but can't say the words aloud that someone called you G and I think or thought it might be you so you just watch as he processes the information slowly, like a meal, until he gets there.
"Ah. S'bit weird." He sips at his coffee. "Someone doin' all that."
"Yeah. I thought so, too."
"D'ya need me to say it?"
"Ah," you laugh, cheeks inflamed. "I don't think so."
There's amusement lurking in his honey-brown eyes. "S'not me. Not my style."
What is your style? How would you show a woman you like her? How would you seduce her? What does it look like when you like someone?
"Well, thanks." You smile into your drink, playing with the edge of your serviette. You feel his boots all of a sudden under the booth, legs spread wide, a toe touching the edge of your sandal. You don't move your legs and you don't look at him.
He finishes his coffee quickly. Orders a Newcastle brown. You both order fish and chips — he assures you it's good here — and you ask how long he's worked for the company, when he moved here, until he nudges you back to the hot seat.
"Got any suspects in mind for G?"
You tap the fork against your mouth, a little loosened by your drink. "Not really. It was you or another guy, but honestly, it could be anyone. Could just be someone's idea of a weird prank."
"Who's the other guy?" He doesn't make eye contact, just breaks apart the fish fillet with his fork, head down.
"A guy in IT, Kyle. I met him yesterday for the first time. Last name starts with a G," you explain.
"I know him. Cool bloke. Think you want it to be him?" A long drink from his tall glass of dark ale. Eyes flickering over you, not touching down anywhere solid. Too casual.
"I don't know how to feel about any of it," you demur.
He nods.
When the bills come, he pays for you, ignoring your soft protest, and gets you to package up your leftovers to bring home. You hold it in your lap on the ride back to the parking lot; your car, alone once more. He leaves the truck running, cold air streaming out across your rippled skin, letting his big hands rest on his bigger thighs. He picks off a fleck of something.
"Simon."
"Yeah."
Your eyes slip from his thighs up to his face, his profile in the dusky light, the blue interior lights of the dashboard. "You promise it's not you?"
Quickly, his eyes meet yours. "Yeah, promise."
"Okay."
You set your container up on the passenger dashboard, tucked under the windshield, the corner squeaking. You unclick your seatbelt. You slide off your bag to the floor. You turn to him squarely, eyes mapping his face, and when you see the wary hunger in his eyes, you lean over and kiss him on the mouth.
His mouth is slow to move, his hands suspended off his thighs, nowhere to set them down. You wonder when he was last kissed.
You pull your lips off his with the tiniest smile, and lean down to grab your bag. Container in other hand. You open the passenger door before he can react, before his body can shift to anticipate your move.
He meets you in the space between your parked vehicles. You're about to make a pithy teasing joke, but then, in silence, he's grabbing your container and setting it on the roof of your car, bag with it. He doesn't look at your face long, can't hold your gaze, but his hands are tunneling into your hair and scooping your face up, tilting you so he can drive his mouth down on yours. This time, his tongue meets yours hungrily, no longer dazed, like you've awoken something dormant. His mouth is soft and flavoured strong with yeast and malt and coffee, and it tastes right to you. When he string a moan out of you, it spurs his own sounds; big silent man keeping them all to himself.
He presses you up against your car, molding your back over the sun-hot glass and metal until you hiss, and you both laugh a little, so he switches your back to the truck instead. His hands move desperately across your shoulders, collarbone, down your arms and elbows to your hands, which are roving over him, then down to your hips. When you wriggle and moan, his hands scoop further down until he's cupping your ass cheeks and hauling you up against him, the press of canvas and hard muscle underneath scratching against your soft skin and thin summer dress.
"Fuck me," he mutters into your damp throat. "S'not fair."
"What?" You wind your arms around his shoulders and neck, carding your fingernails over his buzzed head. Breathless, kissed stupid, kissed right.
"Not fair to be this fuckin' soft."
You couldn't say what comes over you except standing on the precipice of summer-soaked lust, but you knot your legs around his waist so he doesn't need to use his hands to hold you. You grind desperately against him, any part you can feel, a deep groan winding out of you as his arms band tight around your sweat-damp back. "Oh my god," you pant.
"What?"
"You're so…" and you got nothin', so you just mold your mouth against his again, hoping your tongue against his teeth will tell him what you can't put into words. "I wanna get in your truck."
It takes maneuvering. Big guy. You. Seat reclined, steering wheel pushed back in, water bottle tossed into the backseat. You unbuckle his dirty notched belt and he gasps when your fingers graze over his fly.
"You sure?" His voice has a funny tone. "Been workin' all day. Probably smell rank."
You smile down at him. "I don't think I'll mind." You shove his pants down with his help, and then pull his achingly hot cock out of his precum-damp briefs.
Both of you inhale sharp when you finally get your hands on it, so silky and darkened with rushing blood. Already, the air smells ripe with him and you could siphon it into your bloodstream and get drunk on it.
"God, you're so fuckin' hot," you breathe out without meaning to, laughing incredulously. You catch the look on his face at the last second, eyes almost too focused on his lower half. "You don't believe me?"
He doesn't nod, doesn't shake his head, and his eyes finally fix on yours for the first time. Needing to figure you out.
You flutter your dress hem up, reach down and pull your underwear to the side, and align yourself over the head of him. "You don't believe me?" You stroke down, sheathing him in inches, a slow descent designed to make him gasp and buck. You're successful. "I wanted you to be G. But — oh, shit — I didn't want you to be that type of guy. Fuck. I don't like games. I don't want—" a sharp gasp ripping out of you as he bottoms out "—someone who treats me like that."
His big arms band around you again, pulsing you right in place over his cock, his eyes shuddering closed tight, an almost pained expression over his face. Despite the cold air of the truck cab, you're both sweating now.
"And I don't want Kyle," you moan raggedly, staring down at him, angling to get friction against your clit as his cock slides hotly. "Not my type."
"No?" Not doubtful anymore. Awed.
You shake your head, and his cock strokes just right and you let out a squeak, your fingers clamping over his neck. "No. No. Not him. Not him at all."
"Tell me."
"I like you."
A thumb jagging over your clit under your crooked dress. "Yeah?"
"Yes." A cry. Moan. Warning sign.
He groans. "Like you."
"You like me?"
"Thought it was obvious. Fuck, Jesus Christ, oh m—"
A disgustingly wet, desperately-held-together kiss that seals you both as his orgasm overtakes him, washing him away, his hips slamming up into yours sloppy and fast, but his thumb still rubbing hard and right until yours has you clenching him so tight that he lets out a loud mangled noise that sounds almost anguished.
Cum pools hot. Flesh squelches wet and sticky. Sweaty skin needs to be peeled away from sweaty skin carefully. Both of you, destroyed and sweating and panting.
His hands then: roaming up your open thighs and bent waist and hanging breasts until he's bringing your face down to his for a deep, surprisingly tender kiss. When you finally pull away, his eyes are liquid-soft.
—
You skip the next cinq à sept.
Sasha finally pesters you into coming to the first one in August. It's the same-ish crowd as last time; you now require far less introductions, finding it easier to chat with most folks now. No longer clinging to Sasha as your party guide.
A spicy margarita in your hand, you wander around a bit more freely, and end up spotting the IT guys. You wave as you pass, and Kyle makes a gesture to grab you for a moment.
"Hey," you smile.
"Y'alright?"
"Yeah, great. Busy with the new slate of projects, but good. I think I've got my sea legs now," you laugh easily.
"Aw, that's great news." He drinks lazily from a bottle of beer. "No IT issues lately?"
You shrug. "Uh, nope? Not that I can think of. Nothing that wasn't resolved ASAP, anyway. Your team's good at that."
A strange expression sours that beauty. "No messages?"
Sinking. Sweat, immediately, and the sinking feeling in your stomach. "What do you mean?" Sasha told you she'd never revealed your situation.
He winks, those baby brown eyes lined with long gorgeous eyelashes. "G_02's been pretty quiet these days then."
Your mouth drops open.
He laughs breezily. "Sorry about all that. Bit of a silly idea that grew into somethin' else after drinks with Johnny one night. Just wanted to impress the new cute girl."
"Uhhh…"
The outdoor patio's crowded and you look around the clusters of people. Sasha's nowhere in sight.
"Didn't mean to freak y'out, love. Just some funny games, y'know?" The smile slips every so infinitesimally.
"Got your drink?" Coarse and quiet and steady, coming through the crowd. Simon in his uniform, joining you now that he's done for the night. Sidling up next to you, back looking extra stiff this evening, glass of beer in his hand. "Alrigh'?"
"Yeah," you smile up at him, wrapping your arm loosely around his waist, tucking your thumb under his belt. Ignoring that in your peripheral vision, you can see Kyle's expression registering and rearranging itself into something different.
You give Kyle the brush-off smile, the precursor to saying goodbye. "Yeah, I'm not big into games." Could be about poker. Trivia night. A video game he's trying to explain. "Terrible at 'em."
Simon's arm around your shoulder, his large hand massaging the knot out of your joint nicely.
You'll return the favour tonight when you get home, get him stretched out on your living room floor and fuck with his back until he's groaning sweetly and wanting you to straddle him while he's on his back instead.
sometimes I’m reminded that there are still people who don’t know ao3 was literally created by incest shippers — and the site’s sole purpose is to 1. be completely against censorship and 2. host all kinds of dark, taboo fics that are banned on other platforms — and the first ever fic that was posted on ao3 was a fic about an incest ship from supernatural.
you are in the house that was created by freaks. for freaks (affectionate). every disgusting thing you can think of is rightfully allowed and welcomed on ao3, because they are exactly the reasons why ao3 was created in the first place.
ao3 was created because its creators got tired of censorship, they got tired of dark and taboo fics getting banned on pro-censorship platforms, and they wanted a place that was safe for ALL FICS THAT WERE DARK AND TABOO.
ao3’s main principle is being against censorship and being proship / profic.
there are some things in fiction that make me uncomfortable, but instead of shaming people who are just minding their own business and not harming anyone in real life, I choose to curate my own internet experience by blocking/muting what I don’t want to see. ao3 has excellent tagging system, so instead of being rude, instead of asking why the world doesn’t revolve around your personal comfort, use their tagging system properly and you won’t see the things you don’t want to see.
it’s your job to curate what you see. it’s not other people’s jobs or responsibilities to censor themselves for your personal comfort. the world does not revolve around you.
also you cannot censor “only the things you personally hate” without expecting everything else, that isn’t of conservative beliefs, to be censored too. because censorship is a slippery slope and a fascist tool. I promise you there are people who think “why do tags for queer love even exist on ao3? they’re grooming children”.
if you allow the things that you hate to be censored — because someone with enough power gets to control what other people can and cannot create/consume, it will not stop at the things that you hate.
